


Decisions

by quiet__tiger



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Smallville
Genre: M/M, Missing Scene, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 12:44:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10594275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quiet__tiger/pseuds/quiet__tiger
Summary: Bruce has too much on his mind, and doesn't enjoy Oliver's intrusion. At first.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Missing scene from _Batman Begins _. Takes place right after the flashback sequence where Bruce returns home for the trial, and before the "Mind of the criminal" montage bit.__
> 
> __Oliver Queen is Smallville's Oliver, played by Justin Hartley._ _
> 
> __Originally posted to Livejournal January 9, 2007._ _

Bruce Wayne stomped up the stairs from the garage into the Manor, disgusted with himself and the world in general. He’d actually been prepared to _shoot_ someone. Yes, that particular someone had single handedly destroyed his entire world and represented the corruption in Gotham, but still.

And then he hadn’t even gotten the chance to enact his revenge. Because someone got there first. 

And then the look in Rachel’s eyes, then everything that had happened after she dropped him off, meeting with Falcone and basically being told there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about anything…

All he wanted in the world was to eat and then forget for a while. So he was a bit put off by Alfred’s cheery, “Master Bruce!” when he walked into the kitchen.

“Hello, Alfred.” It was then that he noticed that Alfred was preparing sandwiches, far too many sandwiches for the two of them. “What’s all this?”

Alfred slathered mayonnaise on a slice of bread. “Master Oliver Queen is waiting for you upstairs. He looked hungry, and I thought you might be upon your return.”

“Alfred…” He was tired and upset, and he didn’t want to see Oliver.

Alfred didn’t really seem to care. “He traveled all this way to see you once he saw what happened on the news. The least you can do is treat him like a human being. Or better yet, as a friend.”

Bruce glared at Alfred, but the calm look he received in return defeated him. “Fine. But he won’t be staying long.” Alfred just handed him a tray with a plate of food and a pitcher of lemonade and glasses. As he left the kitchen he thought he might have heard Alfred mumble something about stubbornness.

Then he wondered at how he somehow became the one to serve his uninvited guest. Bruce glanced sideways at the plate, and he gave Alfred a point for preparing for them his favorite sandwich. Apparently it was Oliver’s, too.

Upstairs he could hear Bach playing from his mother’s drawing room. It was his father’s house, but his mother had space of her own. The drawing room just happened to have the best acoustics, which was why Bruce had installed the best stereo in there. Sometimes he liked to go in and listen and, depending on his mood, either try to forget or try to remember…

He wasn’t surprised to enter the room to find Oliver laying on one of the couches, one hand behind his head, the other resting on his chest. He looked calm and relaxed, which is why Bruce slammed the tray down harder than was necessary.

Oliver didn’t flinch, and just slowly opened his eyes to peer up at Bruce. “Heard you coming a mile away.”

Bruce scowled and pushed Oliver’s legs out of his way so he could sit down on that end of the couch. “If I’d been trying to surprise you, I would have been stealthier. And I would have been successful.” He continued to scowl.

Oliver smirked as he reached for a sandwich. “Alfred was right, he warned me you might be pissy.”

Raising his eyebrows in surprise forced Bruce out of his scowl. “I highly doubt Alfred said ‘pissy.’”

Oliver smirked more broadly, or harder, or maybe just again. “I think his exact words were, ‘I expect Master Bruce to be out of sorts upon his return, whenever that shall be.’”

“That sounds much more like him.” Bruce reached for his own sandwich. They ate in silence for a minute or two, and Bruce thought about the first time he met Oliver, during the blonde’s tour of the Princeton campus. Bruce had been in the library when the tour walked through, and he’d watched the pompous boy joke with a pale black-haired boy who didn’t seem to want Oliver’s attention.

It clearly wasn’t the last time Oliver had been unwelcome.

Passing through the student union later that same day, Bruce had seen the blonde boy from the tour sitting by himself at a table. He was compelled to walk closer, but he wasn’t sure why. He decided it was figured out when the boy called his name. They struck up a conversation, Bruce suspicious until Oliver told him his own name. They’d done business before, through their parents’ companies. He just hadn’t bothered to learn what Queen looked like.

Part of him wished he’d bothered, because Oliver Queen was very blonde and very attractive.

So began their relationship, part friendship and part rivalry. Bruce assumed that Oliver was visiting him now out of an amiable sense of responsibility, because if it was something related to work he was going to throw Oliver out on his ass. “What are you doing here?”

“Saw on the news what happened. Thought you might want to talk.” Oliver sipped the lemonade he’d just poured, eyebrows raised in what Bruce assumed was anticipation.

“I don’t want to talk.”

“Maybe not, but you might need to.”

“Not to you.”

“Then to who, Alfred? Like the poor man hasn’t suffered enough listening to you about your parents.”

Alfred would most likely be inclined to argue the exact opposite circumstance, and Bruce shot Oliver a nasty glare for mentioning the man. “Your parents weren’t shot in front of you. Your life didn’t crash around you because you were afraid of a performer in a costume.”

“No, but…” Oliver shifted closer to Bruce on the couch. “I do know what it’s like to be an orphan. It changes you, Bruce. No matter how much you dislike me, we _do_ have that in common.” Oliver glanced around the room and then focused back on Bruce. “That, being ridiculously wealthy, and being irresistibly handsome.”

“I was going to kill him.” That hadn’t been what Bruce had wanted to say at all, but it tumbled out anyway. “I had a gun with me. And I was going to do it.”

“And become the thing you’d hated since you were nine years old.” Oliver looked at him critically. “But you were, are, upset you didn’t get your revenge.”

Bruce grunted in annoyance and looked down at his half-eaten sandwich. “I know it’s stupid, but I thought it might help. Might make everything go away.”

Oliver moved even closer to him, Bruce assumed in solidarity, or maybe just for comfort. “For a second, Bruce. Maybe a minute. Maybe even a day. But it wouldn’t last, and it wouldn’t reverse time. Your family would still be dead, you’d still feel like shit, and then you’d feel even worse because you would have known what you did was wrong. You don’t feel that way now, but you will. You’ll see. This will work out for you.”

Oliver was right. It was better this way. Nothing had changed, not who he was, and that was good. It was important. With the corruption in Gotham, he had to first focus on himself and not get caught up in the city’s seedy underbelly. He looked up at Oliver again, who was looking at him with those piercing eyes of his. “How’d you become so wise?”

“Little of this, little of that. And Princeton is Ivy League, remember.” Oliver smirked again, and this time Bruce didn’t have the urge to punch him in the face.

“True.” Bruce leaned forwards to put the unappetizing remains of his sandwich on the tray. When he sat back, Oliver looked to be seated even closer. “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“You keep getting closer. Soon you’ll be in my lap.”

“And that would be undesired?”

Interesting choice of words. “Yes.”

“Oh.” Oliver frowned, and moved a little further away. “Must have read you wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing. I just thought… Whatever there is between us, it’s not just because of our parents, or money, or responsibilities. I thought you felt it, too.”

Bruce blinked. He’d thought himself beyond being this surprised, but clearly he was wrong. “I’m not gay.”

“Neither am I.”

“Uh huh.”

“Having multiple preferences keeps me on my toes.”

“Don’t you mean your knees?”

“Good one, Bruce. Trent was wrong when he said you didn’t have a sense of humor.”

“Who’s Trent?”

“Guy I fooled around with a few times. He knew he was just a substitute for you, but he didn’t really mind.”

This was all kind of blowing Bruce’s mind, but all he said was, “That’s sad.”

“What?”

“That this Trent would sleep with you knowing you didn’t really want him, and that you apparently harbored feelings for me for some time.”

“It’s not like I wrote love poems about you, Bruce. I just wondered what it’d be like to get into your pants.”

“Oh.” He didn’t really know what to say to that; he wasn’t a bad lover, but he wasn’t a great one, either. And lately he’d been so preoccupied with the trial and his decision to leave that he probably wouldn’t have been able to perform if the opportunity arose. So to speak.

“So you’ve never looked at another guy.”

“I have, just not with any intention to do more than look.”

“Just waiting for the right man?”

Bruce stared at him, gauging if he was kidding or not, then chuckled blandly. “Just how much liquor from my bar did you consume?”

“None. Just antsy, I guess. I’ve been here for a while. Thought we could head back to school together.”

“I’m not going back.”

Oliver sat forward. “What do you mean you’re not going back? Ever?”

“Certainly not now. There’s something I have to do.”

“So that’s it? You’re just leaving?”

“Yes. Some things are just more important than school.”

Oliver’s eyes gained that spark that meant he understood. “Personal mission. Pilgrimage.”

“Something like that.” To find himself, and then work to become who that would be.

“I get that. I’ve been thinking about who I am lately, and, well, I think I can do better.”

“It’s not the SATs.”

“You know what I mean.” Oliver looked thoughtful, and Bruce almost regretted being so disagreeable earlier. Oliver really was a nice guy, now, anyway. He’d been much more reckless and acerbic when he’d first come to New Jersey. “Well.” Oliver cleared his throat. “Good luck. Keep in touch.”

He sounded like what you signed in the yearbook of someone you didn’t know very well. Bruce’s yearbooks had a lot of that. “I can’t promise that.”

“Oh.” Bruce didn’t much appreciate Oliver’s look of disappointment. “I guess you really do plan to disappear.” Bruce nodded. “Then maybe you won’t mind, just before I go, I know you don’t want me here…” Oliver leaned towards him, and placed his hand on Bruce’s thigh.

“Oliver…”

“Come on, Bruce. You may never see me again. And you’re not as good at hiding your feelings as you think you are. I know you want this.”

The fact of the matter was, Bruce _did_ want it. He didn’t really want Oliver here, but he also didn’t particularly want to turn down the eager, attractive blonde who was putting gentle pressure on his thigh. He’d been frustrated to different degrees all day, and he figured a little more wouldn’t hurt.

And maybe it would even feel good.

He closed his eyes as Oliver leaned in, and he licked his lips half a second before Oliver pressed his own against them. Oliver took advantage and pushed his tongue into Bruce’s mouth. One of his hands went into Bruce’s hair, and Bruce moved so he could return Oliver’s advances.

Oliver moaned as Bruce tugged on his lip with his teeth, then licked his way back to Bruce’s mouth. Any misgivings Bruce had when Oliver confessed his feelings and intentions melted away as arousal welled up thought his body. It’d been much too long, he’d been fighting his inner demons, and Oliver was extremely talented and enthusiastic. As if to emphasize the point, he jerked Bruce’s head to the side with his hair to gain better access to his neck.

Bruce could do rough.

But first he had to let Oliver suck that hickey into his neck.

He found the hem of Oliver’s sweater and pushed his hand up past it. His fingertips skated along his side and up over Oliver’s chest. Oliver groaned against Bruce’s neck and then kissed back up to his mouth as Bruce rubbed harder. It was bizarre not to feel breasts, but it was also fascinating. H pulled on a nipple and Oliver grunted with what Bruce assumed was appreciation.

He rolled the other one and Oliver pulled away. A tiny part of Bruce was relieved, but the vast majority of him was pleased when all Oliver said was, “Let me take my shirt off.” Bruce nodded and caught his breath as the sweater and undershirt were pulled off and Oliver’s chiseled torso was revealed. Dips and angles and shadows that Bruce had seen on other boys (and himself in the mirror) but never let himself fully admire shaped Oliver’s chest and abs.

Bruce quickly unbuttoned and tugged off his own shirts and the next time his and Oliver’s lips met so did their chests. Over leaned back and pulled Bruce with him until Bruce lay on top, braced up on one hand with the other flat against Oliver’s chest.

They stayed like that for some time, exploring each other’s mouths, until Bruce ventured down Oliver’s jaw and neck to his chest. He licked at a nipple and then bit softly, and Oliver thrust up into him. That move and Oliver’s next needy moan solidified Bruce’s need for release.

Oliver slipped his hands down the back of Bruce’s pants and squeezed, then he pulled them out and pushed Bruce around until he helped him flip them both so that Oliver was on top. He licked and sucked his way down Bruce’s chest and stomach, and once he got to his pants, he looked up at him with blown pupils, flushed cheeks, and kiss-swollen lips.

Oliver had always been attractive, but this was something else.

He raised his eyebrows and looked pointedly at Bruce’s groin, and Bruce bit back a groan as he shook his head. Oliver looked disappointed, and Bruce gritted out, “Not here.”

“What?”

“Not here.” Not in his mother’s space. They’d already defiled it enough. “My… my room.” The room he’d grown up in. Still the only place in his father’s house that felt like his own space.

Oliver leaned to kiss him again, and then he stood, giving Bruce an excellent view of the bulge in his pants. He reached out a hand to help Bruce up. “Lead the way.”

As Bruce stood he adjusted himself in his pants, then mused over what it would be like to have Oliver’s slender but muscular-looking hands touching him. He led Oliver out of the room and towards his own, and part of him wondered how he could walk without blood in his legs while the rest of him wondered why he hadn’t looked into patenting technology for teleportation.

They finally got there and Bruce turned around and Oliver attacked his mouth again. His nimble fingers also attacked Bruce’s pants, undoing the button and the fly. He pulled them down his thighs and Bruce helped, until he was nude and wanting. Oliver then stripped himself, and Bruce drank in the sight of lean, strong legs and an erect cock.

He could slap himself for not acknowledging his feelings for males before tonight.

He reached out to touch, curling his fingers around Oliver’s dick, and Oliver moaned and thrust into his hand. Oliver stepped forward and reached around to grab Bruce’s ass. Bruce rubbed himself against Oliver as he sucked on his neck and he thought he might come but then Oliver dropped to his knees and started nibbling Bruce’s inner thigh.

Bruce wanted to touch Oliver, study him with his hands, but he didn’t want to allow him to stop. He settled for running his hands through the sweaty blonde hair. Oliver licked up his thigh and along his sac, then down the other leg. He reached hand around Bruce’s cock and pumped, and Bruce couldn’t hold back his groan. “Oliver…”

He looked up at him. “Let me do this for you.” And then he licked under the head of Bruce’s cock and around the edge and Bruce had no intention of arguing.

Oliver’s mouth engulfed him halfway down his dick and then back off. Flicks of his tongue at all the sensitive areas, and though Bruce had gotten blown before, it was never by someone this eager, this experienced. Oliver squeezed his ass again and pulled him closer, and went further down on Bruce’s cock.

Bruce tried hard not to, but he thrust into him, into his hot mouth. “Sorry.”

Oliver pulled off and ordered, “Do it. I want you to.”

Taken aback, Bruce offered, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Oliver smirked. “You won’t.” Bruce almost wanted to object again, but then Oliver took him in again, and he got distracted by the way Oliver’s lips were stretched around him. Bruce didn’t want to hurt that pretty mouth, except for the way part of him really did. The point was moot when Oliver really started sucking, and his eyes fluttered closed, and Bruce just had to move, had to take him, had to have control of something.

His life had seemed beyond his control lately, but this he could feel, the heat of Oliver’s mouth, the soft strands of his hair as he gripped them, the vibrations when Oliver moaned. He felt it and loved it and wanted to own it.

Oliver couldn’t take him all the way in, but that was okay, it was plenty enough for Bruce to let out some of his frustrations. He thrust as hard as he dared, over and over, and Oliver took it.

Finally it was just too much, Oliver’s hands and mouth on him, and Bruce pulled out and came on Oliver’s face. He thought Oliver might have glared, but he didn’t care as he kneeled down and wiped his come off with the bottom edges of his boxers.

After he was done they remained kneeling and kissed again, Bruce trying to comfort any pains he might have caused. Oliver also rubbed himself against Bruce, and Bruce reached between them to help him. He stroked and kissed until Oliver shuddered and came on his stomach. Oliver gasped into his mouth and their kisses slowed as they both calmed down and caught their breath.

They wound up leaning against Bruce’s old bed, Oliver’s hand resting on Bruce’s thigh and his head on Bruce’s shoulder. “Feel better?”

“Yes and no. Physically, yes, but I still have too much on my mind.”

“Yeah.” Oliver squeezed his leg. “I should go.”

“You don’t want to stay?”

“I don’t think you’re ready or quite willing for that.” It wasn’t an answer, and Oliver wasn’t wrong. Bruce needed time. And space.

“All right.” They stood slowly and pulled on their pants. “That was excellent, by the way. I’d ask where you picked up a few of those tips, but…”

“All boys boarding school. Among the affluent, money can only take you so far. Usually you need something else.” Oliver smirked and it looked like it hurt. From their recent activities or the memories of the blonde’s past, Bruce didn’t know.

They collected the rest of Oliver’s clothing and packed him the rest of the food Alfred prepared. Then, after a few more kisses and gropes, he was off, back to Princeton. Bruce watched him with a small sense of regret about his decision to leave, but as Oliver’s car left the gates, he viewed their closing as the end of his current residence at his father’s house.

He had places to be, things to learn, a self to achieve, and a world to fight. And he couldn’t let anything stand in the way of that.


End file.
